A Continuation of Spring
by Theatress
Summary: what happens after June enters the van?


It is silent. Darkness wraps around me and I cannot see. I suppose the darkness has chosen me. I feel alone but I know there are others in the van. Men, dressed in black and holding guns. Suddenly, a light flares up across from me, illuminating the face of one of the men. The disturbance comes from a small device, I recognize it as a cell phone, like the one I used to have.

After glancing briefly at the screen, the man flips it open. His voice is deep yet contains something I have not heard since Luke. A combination of power, worry, and kindness.

There were days when I only wanted to hear Luke's voice. Especially in the time before I became pregnant, it would soothe my worries that I would fail at motherhood, at giving Luke the chance of being a father. We'd lie in bed under the faded rose-printed duvet, his arms circling me in like cocoon, swallowing me whole. He's whisper in my ear, assuring me that it was just not our time yet but that our time would come. His voice would ring with the power of his belief in us and me but I could always hear the undertones of worry that I would fail and he would never get his wish.

I am jolted out of my revelry by the gruff ending to his conversation.

"Yeah, we got her."

...

I was given a small bottle and told to drink the contents. I looked down at the liquid in the bottle that swirled around as the van bumped speedily along the street. Not much could be seen by the dim light available in the blacked-out vehicle, but I could tell it was not going to be pleasant. I was right. The bitter liquid slid down my throat like acid. It coated my stomach with ice and I felt nauseous. My vision begins to blur and colorful shapes dance before my eyes. Everything goes black and the darkness has claimed me.

...

I woke up with a start. All around me was white. I felt a sudden and unexpected stab of panic as I tried to remember how I had ended up here, and not in my own room with the Commander and Serena Joy and Nick. I slowly glanced around me, looking at all the white. White walls, white wardrobe, white carpet, white lamp, white lilies sitting in a white vase on the white dresser. A white clock tick-tocks steadily high on the wall. I get up to explore my new surroundings. It is then I realize that my red habit has been replaced with a white nightgown. It feels unnatural. I haven't worn anything other than red since before my time in the Red Center. I go to the dresser and search through the drawers. They are empty. Same with the wardrobe. I hear a sudden sharp click and then a delicate female voice "Please return to your bed, Miss." I do so because there is nothing else to do. As I lay down on the silky white sheets, a luxury handmaids were never given, I heard a slight hissing sound and was soon fast asleep.

When next I woke, it was to delicious scents. Blinking my eyes open, I once again take in my surroundings. Not much has changed except for the presence on a new desk and chair, which stand out due to their rich mahogany color that contrasts the blinding whiteness of the room. A tray sits on top of the desk and I can see steam rise from it, though I cannot from what it rises. I get up to find a plate of roast chicken, mashed potatoes and asparagus, still hot, on a blue and white china plate. On a separate, smaller plate the farther side of the desk, there is a single iris in a vase. I puzzle over its meaning as I savor the meal, relishing each bite. Finishing, I swear I shall never be hungry again. I turn my attention once more the flower. Reaching over the smell it, I realize it sits over a small card sealed with wax, on which is written in beautiful script, _June_. With a sense of wonder at whoever these people are, I break the seal and read the card.

_To Miss,_

_I hoped you enjoyed your meal. No doubt, it has been the most food you have seen in quite some time. In addition, you will find some clothes in the wardrobe and dresser. I hope they are to your liking. I apologize for your rough treatment at the hands of my men but it was necessary to sell the story. I wish to see you in person, and I should guess that you are very confused over your new abode and have many questions. Allow me to answer them. This meal should have reached you at about 5pm and I unfortunately have a meeting until 6. A guard will be sent to your room to collect you. Do not fear him, he is there only for your safety. He will bring you to me."_

_Until then,_

_Daturas_

I fold the card and place it back on the table. I turn and glance at the clock. 5:45. I get up and walk over to the wardrobe. Inside it, I found clothes like I used to wear in pre-Gilead times: jeans and sweaters and t-shirts. I pull on a pair of jeans and a blue sweater. There are no shoes so I keep on my slippers. I hear a sharp rap at the door at precisely 6pm. I slip the knife up the sleeve of my sweater as I walk to open the door. A man dressed all in black is standing there. He is muscular and very tall, taller than the Commander and Nick, and has kind eyes, blue like the sky before it rains. He introduces himself, in a loud booming voice with a slight accent which I cannot place, as Boris. Making sure I am following him, he leads me down the labyrinth of hallways and stairs to where ever we're going. I carefully follow a few feet behind him and we walk along in an oddly comfortable silence. I try to remember what route we take but soon get lost as the distance increases. We arrive at a set of tall oak doors. Boris stops and knocks on the door four times with quick precision, like something he has practiced hundreds of times before. From inside, a voice replies. Enter, it says.

"This is where I leave you, Miss," says Boris, turning to me. "Worry not, you will be safe here."

He bows slightly a, turning on his heel, walks back in the direction from which we came. I breathe deeply and try to steady myself and heave open the door. It is an office, much like the President used to have, big and official, radiating importance. There is a thick Persian rug on the floor, a kaleidoscope of reds, blues, and yellows. A dark oak desk sits squarely at the back of the room, and behind it is a wide green chair.

"Hello?" I say, not seeing anyone else in the room.

"Greetings." The green chair turns to reveal a man in a dark blue suit. His hair is coal-black and swooped over in a way that was popular with Hollywood actors. There is something about him that radiates elegance and power, like a lion or silken black leopard hunting in the jungle, but there was also a grandfatherly kindness that shone out from his emerald eyes. I trusted him but wasn't sure I should at the same time.

"Are you alright, my dear, you look as if you've seen a ghost?" His voice is rounded with the same accent as Boris', but his has a more distinct sound, found in those with eloquence, cultured over generations.

"No, no, I'm fine." I manage to sputter. "Who are you?"

"I am Daturas." He said with a little bow. "I am the chief."

"Chief? Chief of what?"

He smiles as he says "All in good time, my dear, all in good time. Please, have a seat." He gestures to the plush red chair on the opposite side of his desk.

I sink into it and feel the soft velvet lining with my hand. It reminds me of the recliner that my mother used to have in her living room. "You need a sturdy head to help you survive in this world," she'd say, "as much as you need a comfy chair to protect you from it."

I hear a clinking noise as Daturas places a delicate teacup in front of me. A wisp of steam rises from it, dances before me, and quickly disappears.

"Now," he says, "I presume you have some questions for me."

The questions tumble from my mouth. "Who are you? Where am I? What do you-"

"We have as much time as we need, so why don't I start from the beginning and give you a general briefing, then you fire away?" He asks, looking slightly bemused.

I take a sip of my tea and nod.

"As I said before, my name is Daturas. I am the current chief of the Skjult Samfund, the Secret Society. You are currently in our base on a small island off of Denmark. The Samfund deals with the extraction, protection, and reculturization of persons such as yourself, that is people who cannot conceal how much they despise the system and how much they know of what could be. To date, we have helped over 100 people escape and create new lives for themselves. You have the opportunity to be one such person."

He looks at me as I sit there quietly. Silence settles over us as I try to understand the rapid change in my life.

"So," I finally begin. "I am in Denmark."

"Yes," he replies, gently.

"How did I get here?"

"After you were taken by the organization you know as "The Eyes", you were placed under a very powerful anesthetic. This knocked you out for almost two days, giving my team time to extract and transport you via plane to this base."

Again, silence falls over us as I consider this.

"What about Nick? And Mayday?"

"The man you know as 'Nick' is actually one of our top agents. He was moved to the house of the man you know as the 'Commander' shortly before you were assigned there, to keep an eye on you and to gather more intelligence on Fred and his workings. His wife was also monitored in case she played a part in his schemes, but Agent Coulson said she was basically harmless, if not helpful. To answer you second question, we are Mayday, or rather, we are part of Mayday. Mayday is a collection of nations that are working toward saving persons such as yourself, victims of religious tyranny, from similar nations all over the world."

"You mean there's more countries similar to Gilead?"

"Unfortunately, many countries had been waiting for a spark to form a similar system and that spark came from Gilead."

Silence washes over us. As time crawls past, I think over all this new information. Daturas looks at me patiently, waiting for me to speak again. I ignore him. So, the Commander was one of the founders of Gilead. I knew he had been an important official but I hadn't known to what extent his power reached. I felt played, like the white mice that were used in laboratories in the old days, subject to the tests of their masters, no matter what the task, just to see if I would keel over or succeed.

"Where is Nick now?" I decided to ask, trying to not the feeling of despair overwhelm as I thought about all the women in all the other countries.

"He has been transferred to a new house in the system for now, but he will also be extracted and returned here soon. As I understand it, you and Agent Coulson, or I suppose 'Nick', were...involved. You will be able to see him when he returns, if you wish."

I wasn't sure I wanted to see him. He had not given me love, just presence which I so desperately needed. I wanted Luke. I wanted my daughter. Hell, I'd even take Rita now.

"So, I assume you desire to begin your new life right away then," Daturas says, shuffling papers around on his desk. "I shall make the arrangements for you. You will be given simple accommodations and your finances will be taken care of until you can get on your feet."

I can only nod. This is what Moira would do, jump right into things, not give two thoughts to the consequences.

"I have one question for you, Miss," Daturas said. "I am almost embarrassed to ask now that we are so deep in conversation. You must understand that, though our organization has access to many resources, there are things that even we do not know. What is your name?"

It had been so long; I'd almost forgotten. I head to search deep through my mind, past all the memories of my time as a handmaid, the Ceremony, the Salvaging, the Red Center, Moira, back to the times before.

"June." I said. "My name is June."


End file.
